


Continue the Species

by ProwlingThunder



Series: Like Good Soldiers [7]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Animals Eating Animals, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Brutality, Cannibalism, Cutler - Freeform, Forced Breeding, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutant Hounds, Mutant Hounds are Wolves, Not for the faint of heart, Other, Paladin Danse - Freeform, Psychic Wolves, Psychic Wolves For Lupercalia, Rape, Read at Your Own Risk, Slow Death, Supermutant, Torture, Violent Sex, Wolfheat, danse - Freeform, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only real instincts left in Strong are the three Fs: Fight, Feed, Fuck. His mutated wolfbrother follows the same vein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continue the Species

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic contains _graphic rape that does not end well._ The main character is a _super mutant_ and the contents of the story involve him _brutally breeding a man._ You have been warned.
> 
> This work is also a remix of another, unpublished piece by another artist.

They had caught them fair, the six of them, he and Virile; six weak humans and their wolves, skulking around and killing his brothers, one in a metal case that had protected him more than the others when they had fallen into the trap, though none of them had been strong enough to escape.

The trap had been clever, one of his brothers thinking sly, and he would not underestimate it, because there had been a wolf among them, scenting near-fertile. He pulled the bitch-wolf and the bitch-man away from the rest, lashing them apart, her with thick chains around the throat, him with strong rope. The human had broken his leg in the trap, the limb twisted; he could not run. The bitch was whole and hale but not ready.

He put the rest in the cage. The other wolves were male and useless. One had died in the trap and would be ripe in a few days of sun; they picked a wolf and man both, uncaring who might have been who, and Virile savaged the weakling's belly for his meal, dragging it still alive by it's entrails out the door, while Strong broke one of the weak humans and drug it away.

The next day he found the bitch-man working at his chains. He crushed his hands beneath a heel as Virile decided the wolf would not yet take. Then, they selected dinner from the cage. This time, the living wolves fought, one spilling out into the room, and Virile tore away fur and flesh as Strong batted away those left and pulled out a human to eat.

The wolves made Virile fertile, each battle for dominance won in a snap of jagged teeth and a ruptured jugular, and he lapped spilled blood and ate the soft organs from a split, tender belly. The wolves were for Virile. The humans were for Strong.

They feasted well.

They ran out of wolf-men, except for the last one, the one they could not eat. The one they would breed.

Virile snuffed the air and growled, low and sharp like glass, _ready now_.

Smell told him when the bitch-wolf was ready, the scent spilling through the camp, though Virile remained the only beast left to breed. It spoke to his instincts, bound in the blood and stronger now, as a mutant. His own body, twisted from once-was, answered the call.

Heavy footfalls drew him to the room until he could smell it too. The scent of a bitch-wolf ready to breed. She was strong; she would take. Virile would fill her heavy with pups, and she would grow fat on the flesh of the wolf-men, the ones who came before and the ones who would come after. He grinned, laughing. Virile was eager for it. The wolf-men had stolen his pack. Their bitch-wolf would give it back.

"Smell that, brother? Wolf is ready-- you were right. Strong can feel it.” He was eager for it too. The heat roiled off the bitch in waves, and soaked her bitch-man in it too. It coursed through Virile, and it coursed through him. He would spill into the innards of the weak man who's brothers had stolen his own. Fear and breeding would sweeten and tenderize the meat. He would taste good.

The fear was already there. The bitch-man was whimpering, trying to undo Strong's strong knot, and his body rocked with pain. He laughed, amusement curling through his chest. Virile circled the furry bitch, waiting for her to turn her tail up, let the heat-smell spill thicker from her; waiting for the right moment. "Humans too weak to escape from Strong. Virile will have fun with your wolf. I will have fun with you." He grinned down at the man, who cried softly at the promise, and he could feel his engorged tool waiting to be used.

The bitch-wolf whimpered too, dropping her hips-- but Virile would have none of that and pounced on her, sharp teeth digging into her scruff and shaking her, twisting her so she bent in the right way for him to mount, to take his puppies deep. Strong knelt behind the bitch-man to tear at the hideous orange cloth he wore, and something snapped in the weak human arm as he dropped the outrageous color aside.

He did not care. He was bared, skin purple and green in some spots, and Strong used his restraints to bring him up into the position to breed as well. He tore his pants from himself, his tool spilling out long and wide and firm, and he settled the tip against the heat of him, as Virile did to the other bitch.

Both bitches uttered low, pain-filled sounds as they thrust into them, one yelping and one screaming as their bodies tore past the resistance, forcing the flesh to part. They moved in tandem, he and Virile, and his shaft was painted the scarlet of a broken human when he moved back. Disgust washed through him; the weak human bitch could not survive one mounting. But his bitch was a warm, wet tightness around his body, and when Virile moved, diving into his bitch to fill her with his girth, Strong went with him.

Only when Virile spilled into her did the bitch-wolf truly rest, but Virile did not rest long; there were pups to be had, and they would not be denied. Strong did not tire in the long hours, and there was no rest for the bitch-man at all. 

If he even still lived.

His life did not matter. Fear and pain seasoned his flesh, as did Strong’s irradiated spill. He would die and the wolf would feast on him to feed Virile’s unborn pack. They would be strong. They would breed many more bitch-wolves, and feast well, and those they did not kill they would drag back to make Strong’s brothers anew.

Virile finally tied into her and dismounted, turning around uninterested and dragging her a short ways from the muscle nestled into her flesh, spilling into her womb. Virile laid down on his belly and took up a brittle bone, half-cleaned from previous breaks. Strong could feel he was done with the bitch-wolf, satisfied that she was well-bred and unwilling to pay her more mind.

Strong spilled into his own bitch then, fallow flesh thick with seed that would not grow, and then once more while he waited for Virile to be finished. The bitch-wolf inched away desperately the moment she could, her tail tucked between her legs, and Strong let the bitch-man slough off his body and into a heap. He stood and pulled on his pants, the mutant wolf standing with him.

“Leave them now,” he decided, surveying the broken body and the bred bitch both. She  _ would _ eat, but for now it was too far beyond her reach. Virile would pass it to her when it was time. “Come back for pups later.”

He turned and left, his own hunger stinging him. This human was the wolf’s, not his or Virile’s. Virile’s pups would grow big on the food they provided, as all bitch-wolves did, and they would come into the world ready to feast again.

Strong would eat, and then he and Virile would hunt again.


End file.
